


The Hound

by Mitsuhachi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Blades, Community: kink_bingo, Consent Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitsuhachi/pseuds/Mitsuhachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Kakashi is off on a mission, Iruka receives an unexpected visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hound

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for questionable levels of consent, knifeplay, bloodplay, and really broken ninja sociology.

Sometimes, when Kakashi had been gone for a few days or weeks on a mission, Iruka would open his window to find the Hound watching him.

He’d never figured out whether it was Kakashi himself watching for some reason, or one of Kakashi’s kohai he’d asked to keep an eye on Iruka (it was the paranoid kind of thing that Kakashi would do, to be honest. That was why Kakashi was still alive), or if he was under surveillance for some other reason entirely. Maybe he was still under a certain amount of suspicion for the…for Naruto’s graduation exam.

But the Hound never spoke, never made any kind of threatening move or otherwise attempt to approach Iruka, and Iruka in turn ignored him for the most part. So, when he opened the curtains in his kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil and saw the Hound leaning casually against the trunk of a tree a few meters away, all Iruka did was pour a second cup of tea, making sure to stay in easy view of the ANBU the entire time, obviously preparing both cups the same way.

He sipped from his own cup, set the second on the windowsill, and went to bed.

***

Iruka woke several hours later to the knowledge that someone was in the house.

He hadn’t felt the wards go off at all, or heard the traps triggering, so whoever it was had to be at least Jounin level—they’d been damn good defenses to begin with, and Kakashi had tweaked them himself when he’d moved in. The intruder wasn’t radiating lethal intent, wasn’t gathering chakra to use any major jutsu, which was probably what had let him go unnoticed so far. But even Iruka was too good a ninja not to recognize someone uninvited in his own home.

Iruka carefully kept his breathing even and slow against the pounding of adrenaline hitting his nervous system, and allowed his eyes to slit open just the tiniest fraction. No one in the room, then, at least not that Iruka could detect. Slowly, carefully, he slid one hand under his pillow, reaching for the little pocket that held his kunai.

The door to his bedroom started to creak open just like that, neither the whiplash quickness that preceded an attack nor the calculated stealth of an enemy. But even Kakashi respected Iruka’s instincts enough to knock and announce himself before trying to enter when Iruka didn’t expect him—it was common courtesy, and saved him the effort of dodging. Iruka’s hand clenched tighter around the Kunai, muscles coiled and ready as the door swung open.

Silhouetted against the dim light leaking through the doorway, the Hound stood watching him.

Iruka froze, body automatically suppressing the little jerk of surprise at the intruder’s identity. What was an ANBU doing here, inside? Were there other enemies? Or was _he_ the enemy? If that was the case, he’d either be with the Hokage, at the Interrogation division headquarters, or dead soon, depending on what they thought he’d done.

But even that tiny aborted gesture must have alerted the Hound that his prey was awake. In a move too fast for Iruka to follow either by sight or by chakra, the Hound was right there on the bed, pinning the hand Iruka held his kunai with by the wrist and using his weight over Iruka’s pelvis and thighs to prevent most other movement. He was surprisingly heavy, though Iruka couldn’t say how much of that was the wire mesh and body armor in the ANBU uniform, and Iruka’s shoulders twitched the beginning of a roll before he could stop himself.

 _Do not ever fight an ANBU of your village_ , he taught his second graders. _If they approach you, it is for the good of Konohagakure; the Nindo requires that you aid them however required. If you instead try to impede them in that mission, they will kill you, and they will have every right to do so._

The Hound’s fingers crushed around Iruka’s wrist—only bruising force so far, a threat or a warning—and brought up a blade of his own, just high enough that Iruka could see the flash of it’s cutting edge at the corner of his field of vision. Common courtesies like never positioning yourself in a shinobi’s only escape route and keeping your hands visible in public went double for the ANBU: they were the village’s best weapons, but that level of talent was bought with even more emotional instability than most shinobi. That was just an accepted fact; you learned to live with it.

Very deliberately, Iruka let go of his weapon and relaxed each of his major muscle groups in turn. In the back of his mind, Iruka was aware that he was afraid—might be very afraid—but in the cool monochrome of mission response he couldn’t feel it. If he survived, there would be time enough to be afraid then. The Hound’s eyes were nothing but dark holes in the ANBU mask, but his gloved hand loosened a little around Iruka’s wrist and Iruka let out a shaky half-breath of relief.

He had to fight to keep his muscles relaxed, though, when he saw the Hound raise the tanto blade to his lips. The blackened metal was cold and tasted strangely of sulpher in a way that made Iruka want to lick his lips, though he knew better than to move right now. Very carefully, the flat of the blade traced Iruka’s lips, lower and upper and lower again until the edge of the blade just barely caught on rough patch of chapped skin. Behind the mask, the Hound’s hitched breath echoed weirdly, and the metal taste of his own blood mixed with the taste of the knife on Iruka’s lips.

The Hound let go of Iruka’s wrist—though Iruka was smart enough not to move it regardless—and laid the hand instead over his eyes. Iruka blinked, felt the way his eyelashes caught on the cotton-and-kevlar of the ANBU’s gloves, and then startled badly enough to gasp when he felt the hot flick of a tongue against the little cut. The Hound groaned, and bit at Iruka’s lip until the cut split and let out more blood. This was…not the kind of thing he would have expected as far as “aiding the ANBU in their missions”. But who could say? The mission could be anything, and Iruka was fairly certain that the Hound was still holding the knife. Iruka was in very real danger, here, and he knew himself well enough not to be surprised at the effect that was having on him.

Iruka didn’t move, even as the Hound sat up, settling more fully onto the curve of Iruka’s hips and pressing against his erection. He didn’t move when the ANBU wrapped the thick cotton of field dressings around his eyes, or when he dipped down to lick at Iruka’s lip again. And then Iruka felt the gathering of chakra, heard the low murmur “kageori no jutsu”, and _couldn’t_ move. A Nara, then? But as the cool metal of the blade went back to tracing Iruka’s collar bones, some intuition told him it wasn’t.

The blade was sharp enough that he almost didn’t feel the light tugging as it slit open his sleeping shirt until cold air hit his bare skin. Iruka could feel his body try to shiver and be stopped by the ninjutsu. The rough warmth of the ANBU gloves dragged down his chest and the impulse to arch up into it was nearly overwhelming. Iruka was almost glad that he couldn’t move once the bright sting of the blade traced the path the fingers had taken.

A thumb brushed abrasive and light over one of his nipples, the pleasure an intense counterpoint to the pain of the many small lines bleeding on his chest. The professional in Iruka had to admire the control—a knife that sharp could cut him very badly if its holder wasn’t careful, but the cuts the ANBU drew on him were just shallow enough to hurt, to let the iron tang of blood in the air. The professional in Iruka admired it, but the rest of him wanted to writhe as the sensation built, each criss-crossing line laying another layer of pain while the Hound rocked steadily against his hips. The cuts curled over his hips, dipping down to the waistband of his pants, and Iruka couldn’t help himself.

“Please—“ he whispered harsh into the dark. His breathing was heavy and Iruka couldn’t seem to slow it, feeling the blade trace down his belly and catch on the elastic of the pajamas, slicing the fabric in a neat line directly over his cock. Only the spell kept it from jerking towards that touch, kept Iruka from trembling as his body tried to orgasm and couldn’t. “Please!”

The Hound laughed, a dry and humorless sound even before the mask distorted it. He murmured a word that Iruka didn’t catch, and for a long breathless moment, he did nothing. Only the sounds of Iruka’s heavy gasping breaths broke the silent waiting. And then the hound touched him again, stroked him just once and then drew a line of fire up along the length of Iruka’s cock, raising his other hand just in time to muffle the scream as the heat of blood and semen alike dripped down onto Iruka’s stomach. Iruka drifted, heavy lidded and panting, as the Hound made a strangely helpless sound and pulled Iruka into a rough kiss.

Out in the village, Iruka could hear stalls being set up in the market and the faint singing of birds in far-off trees, and for a few minutes neither he nor the Hound moved. And then he felt the bed shift, heard the Hound walk off and wondered how long it would take for the jutsu to wear off on its own…

It was startling to feel the warm clean sting of hot water and disinfectant being wiped over his chest—clinical and efficient, but gentle nonetheless. Deft hands taped bandages over a few of the deeper cuts, apparently deciding the others would heal fine on their own, and then hesitated a moment, absently stroking the bare skin of Iruka’s shoulders. Then the Hound bent and stole one more kiss, grasping and almost guilty, before canceling the jutsu. Iruka lifted an uncoordinated hand to untie his makeshift blindfold, but heard the dry whirl of leaves in wind and wasn’t surprised to find himself alone once he’d managed to pull it off.

Iruka let himself lay still for a little while more. Now that the adrenaline and endorphins were leaving his system, Iruka could feel the night catching up with him. He was _tired_ : tired and sore and confused and he wanted _so badly_ to curl up and go back to sleep. But he knew that no matter how he felt, his training wouldn’t let him sleep until he’d checked the perimeter. Slowly, he pulled himself up, decided he wasn’t up to maneuvering himself into real clothes and wrapped himself in an old yukata instead.

When he opened the door though, Kakashi was sitting perched on the arm of Iruka’s couch. Kakashi looked wary, but mostly unharmed; he’d changed into civilian clothes already and cleaned up, although there was still blood under his fingernails. Kakashi never did remember to wash them properly.

The silence stretched between them, and Iruka was aware that a dozen questions—all of them totally inappropriate for him to ask and probably treasonous for Kakashi to answer—tumbling deafeningly inside his head. ANBU were ANBU, everyone knew. When the mask was put away, they could be anyone—teammates, friends, family, lovers—but so long as the mask was on there could only be the ANBU and not the man.

Iruka looked at his lover watching him with something almost like fear tightening the skin around his eye, and what Iruka said was, “Welcome back.”


End file.
